


Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince: Snarry Style

by SherlockianGleekFangirl101



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-31
Updated: 2015-11-01
Packaged: 2018-04-29 03:01:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5113679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherlockianGleekFangirl101/pseuds/SherlockianGleekFangirl101
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Dark Lord has come to power, the Wizarding World is on the brink of yet another war, and Harry is trying to balance his love life with Severus and his duty to fulfill the prophecy made about him and Voldemort. If things keep going downhill at this rate, it's going to end up being a very long Sixth year for one Harry Potter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah. I'm rewriting the 6th book with a Snarry pairing. Yay! Excuse any typos. I went through this twice but probably still missed somethings. Sorry if you find any.

 Harry Potter was snoring loudly. He had been sitting in a chair beside his bedroom window for the best part of four hours, staring out at the darkening street, and had finally fallen asleep with one side of his face pressed against the cold windowpane, his glasses askew and his mouth wide open. The misty fog his breath had left on the window sparkled in the orange glare of the streetlamp outside, and the artificial light drained his face of all color, so that he looked ghostly beneath his shock of untidy black hair.  
The room was strewn with various possessions and a good smattering of rubbish. Owl feathers, apple cores, and sweet wrappers littered the floor, a number of spellbooks lay higgledy-piggledy among the tangled robes on his bed, and a mess of newspapers sat in a puddle of light on his desk. The headline of one blared:

**HARRY POTTER: THE CHOSEN ONE?**  
_Rumors continue to fly about the mysterious recent disturbance at the Ministry of Magic, during which He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was sighted once more._  
_"We're not allowed to talk about it, don't ask me anything" said one agitated Obliviator, who refused to give his name as he left the Ministry last night._  
_Nevertheless, highly placed sources within the Ministry have confirmed that the disturbance centered on the fabled Hall of Prophecy._  
_Though Ministry spokes wizards have hitherto refused even to confirm the existence of such a place, a growing number of the Wizarding community believe that the Death Eaters now serving sentences in Azkaban for trespass and attempted theft were attempting to steal a prophecy. The nature of that prophecy is unknown, although speculation is rife that it concerns Harry Potter, the only person ever known to have survived the Killing Curse, and who is also known to have been at the Ministry on the night in question. Some are going so far as to call Potter "the Chosen One," believing that the prophecy names him as the only one who will be able to rid us of He-Who-Must-No t-Be-Named._  
_The current whereabouts of the prophecy, if it exists, are unknown, although (ctd. page2, column 5)_

A second newspaper lay beside die first. This one bore the headline:

**SCRIMGEOUR SUCCEEDS FUDGE**  
Most of this front page was taken up with a large black-and-white picture of a man with a lionlike mane of thick hair and a rather ravaged face. The picture was moving — the man was waving at the ceiling. 

_Rufus Scrimgeour, previously Head of the Auror office in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, has succeeded Cornelius Fudge as Minister of Magic. The appointment has largely been greeted with enthusiasm by the Wizarding community, though rumors of a rift between the new Minister and Albus Dumbledore, newly reinstated Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, surfaced within hours of Scrimgeour taking office._  
_Scrimgeour's representatives admitted that he had met with Dumbledore at once upon taking possession of the top job, but refused to comment on the topics under discussion. Albus Dumbledore is known to (ctd. page 3, column 2)_

To the left of this paper sat another, which had been folded so that a story bearing the title ministry guarantees students' sapety was visible.

_Newly appointed Minister of Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour, spoke today of the tough new measures taken by his Ministry to ensure the safety of students returning to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry this autumn._  
_"For obvious reasons, the Ministry will not be going into detail about its stringent new security plans," said the Minister, although an insider confirmed that measures include defensive spells and charms, a complex array of countercurses, and a small task force of Aurors dedicated solely to the protection of Hogwarts School._  
_Most seem reassured by the new Minister's tough stand on student safety. Said Mrs. Augusta Longbottom, "My grandson, Neville — a good friend of Harry Potter's, incidentally, who fought the Death Eaters alongside him at the Ministry in June and-_

But the rest of this story was obscured by the large birdcage standing on top of it. Inside it was a magnificent snowy owl. Her amber eyes surveyed the room imperiously, her head swiveling occasionally to gaze at her snoring master. Once or twice she clicked her beak impatiently, but Harry was too deeply asleep to hear her.  
A large trunk stood in the very middle of the room. Its lid was open; it looked expectant; yet it was almost empty but for a residue of old underwear, sweets, empty ink bottles, and broken quills that coated the very bottom. Nearby, on the floor, lay a purple leaflet emblazoned with the words:

**\----ISSUED ON BEHALF OF----**  
_The Ministry of Magic_  
**PROTECTING YOUR HOME AND FAMILY AGAINST DARK FORCES**  
_The Wizarding community is currently under threat from an organization calling itself the Death Eaters. Observing the following simple security guidelines will help protect you, your family, and your home from attack._  
_1\. You are advised not to leave the house alone._  
_2\. Particular care should be taken during the hours of darkness. Wherever possible, arrange to complete journeys before night has fallen._  
_3\. Review the security arrangements around your house, making sure that all family members are aware of emergency measures such as Shield and Disillusionment Charms, and, in the case of underage family members, Side-Along-Apparition._  
_4\. Agree on security questions with close friends and family so as to detect Death Eaters masquerading as others by use of the Polyjuice Potion (see page 2)._  
_5\. Should you feel that a family member, colleague, friend, or neighbor is acting in a strange manner, contact the Magical Law Enforcement Squad at once. They may have been put under the Imperius Curse (see page 4)._  
_6\. Should the Dark Mark appear over any dwelling place or other building, DO NOT ENTER, but contact the Auror office immediately._  
_7\. Unconfirmed sightings suggest that the Death Eaters may now be using Inferi (see page 10). Any sighting of an Inferius, or encounter with same, should be reported to the Ministry IMMEDIATELY._

Harry grunted in his sleep and his face slid down the window an inch or so, making his glasses still more lopsided, but he did not wake up. An alarm clock, repaired by Harry several years ago, ticked loudly on the sill, showing one minute to eleven. Beside it, held in place by Harry's relaxed hand, was a piece of parchment covered in thin, slanting writing. Harry had read this letter so often since its arrival three days ago that although it had been delivered in a tightly furled scroll, it now lay quite flat.

_Dear Harry,_  
_If it is convenient to you, I shall call at number four, Privet Drive this coming Friday at eleven p.m. to escort you to the Burrow, where you have been invited to spend the remainder of your school holidays._  
_If you are agreeable, I should also be glad of your assistance in a matter to which I hope to attend on the way to the Burrow. I shall explain this more fully when I see you._  
_Kindly send your answer by return of this owl. Hoping to see you this Friday,_  
I am, yours most sincerely,  
_Severus Snape_

Though he already knew it by heart, Harry had been stealing glances at this missive every few minutes since seven o'clock that evening, when he had first taken up his position beside his bedroom window, which had a reasonable view of both ends of Privet Drive. He knew it was pointless to keep rereading Severus's words; Harry had sent back his "yes" with the delivering owl, as requested, and all he could do now was wait: Either Severus was going to come, or he was not.  
But Harry had not packed. It just seemed too good to be true that he was going to be rescued from the Dursleys after a mere fortnight of their company. And being picked up by Severus Snape of all people; what luck! He could not shrug off the feeling that something was going to go wrong — his reply to Severus's letter might have gone astray; Severus could be prevented from collecting him; the letter might turn out not to be from Severus at all, but a trick or joke or trap. Harry had not been able to face packing and then being let down and having to unpack again. The only gesture he had made to the possibility of a journey was to shut his snowy owl, Hedwig, safely in her cage.  
The minute hand on the alarm clock reached the number twelve and, at that precise moment, the street-lamp outside the window went out.  
Harry awoke as though the sudden darkness were an alarm. Hastily straightening his glasses and unsticking his cheek from the glass, he pressed his nose against the window instead and squinted down at the pavement. A tall figure in a long, billowing cloak was walking up the garden path.  
Harry jumped up as though he had received an electric shock, knocked over his chair, and started snatching anything and everything within reach from the floor and throwing it into the trunk. Even as he lobbed a set of robes, two spellbooks, and a packet of crisps across the room, the doorbell rang. Downstairs in the living room his Uncle Vernon shouted, "Who the blazes is calling at this lime of night?"  
Harry froze with a brass telescope in one hand and a pair of trainers in the other. He had completely forgotten to warn the Dursleys that Severus might be coming. Feeling both panicky and mid-close to laughter, he clambered over the trunk and wrenched open his bedroom door in time to hear a deep, waspish voice say, "Good evening. You must be Mr. Dursley. I daresay Mister Potter has told you I would be coming for him?"  
Harry ran down the stairs two at a time, coming to an abrupt halt several steps from the bottom, as long experience had taught him to remain out of arm's reach of his uncle whenever possible. There in the doorway stood a tall, thin man with a crooked nose and a tangle of shoulder-length, black, greasy hair. Severus. Harry could've kissed him right then; it had been far too long since they'd last seen each other, and letters simply didn't seem to do any justice.  
Vernon Dursley, whose mustache was quite bushy and black, and who was wearing a puce dressing gown, was staring at the visitor as though he could not believe his tiny eyes.  
"Judging by your look of stunned disbelief, Harry did not warn you that I was coming," said Severus with a smirk. "However, let us assume that you have invited me warmly into your house. It is unwise to linger overlong on doorsteps in these troubled times."  
He stepped smartly over the threshold and closed the front door behind him, causing Harry to have to cover his mouth and fake a cough to keep the laughter out of his voice.  
Vernon Dursley said nothing at all. Harry did not doubt that speech would return to him, and soon-the vein pulsing in his uncles temple was reaching danger point-but something about Severus seemed to have robbed him temporarily of breath. It might have been the blatant wizardishness of his appearance, but it might, too, have been that even Uncle Vernon could sense that here was a man whom it would be very difficult to bully.  
"Harry," Severus nodded at him, and Harry fought to keep his expression in check. "I'm assuming you're packed and ready to leave at a moment's notice?"  
"I-I-yes-I mean...almost, I-"  
"Very well then," Severus replied, cutting Harry off, more than likely to keep him from further embarrassing himself.  
These words seemed to rouse Uncle Vernon. It was clear that as far as he was concerned, any man who could look at Harry and say "Very well then" was a man with whom he could never see eye to eye.  
"I don't mean to be rude-" he began, in a tone that threatened rudeness in every syllable.  
"-Yet, sadly, accidental rudeness occurs alarmingly often," Severus finished the sentence gravely. "Best to say nothing at all, Dursley. Ah, Petunia. It has been quite a while, hasn't it?"  
The kitchen door had opened, and there stood Harry's aunt, wearing rubber gloves and a housecoat over her nightdress, clearly halfway through her usual pre-bedtime wipe-down of all the kitchen surfaces. Her rather horsey face registered nothing but shock.  
"And this must be your son, Dudley?" Severus asked, a clear look of disapproval in his face. It was quite obvious just how badly the older man would have liked using the horrible boy he'd heard so much of in one of his potions.  
Dudley had that moment peered round the living room door. His large, blond head rising out of the stripy collar of his pajamas looked oddly disembodied, his mouth gaping in astonishment. Severus waited a moment or two, apparently to see whether any of the Dursleys were going to say anything, but as the silence stretched on he frowned  
"Shall we assume that you have invited me into your sitting room?"  
Dudley scrambled out of the way as Severus passed him. Harry, still clutching the telescope and trainers, jumped the last few stairs and followed Severus, who had settled himself in the armchair nearest the fire and was taking in the surroundings with an expression of unsuppressed disdain. He looked quite extraordinarily out of place.  
"Aren't-aren't we leaving, sir?" Harry asked anxiously.  
"Yes, indeed we are, but there are a few matters we need to discuss first," said Severus. "And I would prefer not to do so in the open. We shall trespass upon your aunt and uncle's hospitality only a little longer."  
"You will, will you?"  
Vernon Dursley had entered the room, Petunia at his shoulder, and Dudley skulking behind them both.  
"Yes," said Severus with a hiss, "I shall."  
He drew his wand so rapidly that Harry barely saw it; with a casual flick, the sofa zoomed forward and knocked the knees out from under all three of the Dursleys so that they collapsed upon it in a heap. Another flick of the wand and the sofa zoomed back to its original position.  
"We may as well be comfortable," said Severus, a smirk gracing his features once more.  
Harry took the remaining armchair, choosing not to look at the Dursleys, who seemed stunned into silence.  
"I would assume that you were going to offer me refreshment," Severus said to Uncle Vernon, "but the evidence so far suggests that that would be optimistic to the point of foolishness."  
A third twitch of the wand, and a dusty bottle and five glasses appeared in midair. The bottle tipped and poured a generous measure of honey-colored liquid into each of the glasses, which then floated to each person in the room.  
"Madam Rosmerta’s finest oak-matured mead," said Severus, raising his glass to Harry, who caught hold of his own and sipped. He had never tasted anything like it before, but enjoyed it immensely. The Dursleys, after quick, scared looks at one another, tried to ignore their glasses completely, a difficult feat, as they were nudging them gently on the sides of their heads. Harry could not suppress a suspicion that Severus was rather enjoying himself.  
"Well, Mister Potter," said Severus, turning toward him, "a difficulty has arisen which I hope you will be able to solve for us. By us, I mean the Order of the Phoenix. But first of all I must tell you that your godfather's will was discovered a week ago and that he left you everything he owned. Dumbledore's orders. He'd have told you himself if he could have made it. Unfortunately, he is away on business at the moment."  
Over on the sofa, Uncle Vernon’s head turned, but Harry did not look at him, nor could he think of anything to say except, "Oh. Right."  
"This is, in the main, fairly straightforward," Severus went on. "You add a reasonable amount of gold to your account at Gringotts, and you inherit all of Black's personal possessions. The slightly problematic part of the legacy-"  
"His godfather's dead?" said Uncle Vernon loudly from the sofa. Severus and Harry both turned to look at him. The glass of mead was now knocking quite insistently on the side of Vernon’s head; he attempted to beat it away. "He's dead? His godfather?"  
"Yes," said Severus. He did not ask Harry why he had not confided in the Dursleys. That could come later. Besides, Severus had heard enough to know how terrible Harry's family was.  
"Our problem," he continued to Harry, as if there had been no interruption, "is that he has also left you number twelve, Grimmauld Place."  
"He's been left a house?" said Uncle Vernon greedily, his small eyes narrowing, but nobody answered him.  
"You can tell Dumbledore to keep using it as headquarters," said Harry. "I don't care. You can have it, I don't really want it." Harry never wanted to set foot in number twelve, Grimmauld Place again if he could help it. He thought he would be haunted forever by the memory of Sirius prowling its dark musty rooms alone, imprisoned within the place he had wanted so desperately to leave.  
"That is generous," said Severus. "We have, however, vacated the building temporarily."  
"Why?"  
"Well," said Severus, ignoring the mutterings of Uncle Vernon, who was now being rapped smartly over the head by the persistent glass of mead, "Black family tradition decreed that the house was handed down the direct line, to the next male with the name of 'Black.' Sirius was the very last of the line as his younger brother, Regulus, predeceased him and both were childless. While his will makes it perfectly plain that he wants you to have the house, it is nevertheless possible that some spell or enchantment has been set upon the place to ensure that it cannot be owned by anyone other than a pureblood."  
A vivid image of the shrieking, spitting portrait of Sirius's mother that hung in the hall of number twelve, Grimmauld Place flashed into Harry's mind. "I bet there has," he said.  
"Quite," said Severus. "And if such an enchantment exists, then the ownership of the house is most likely to pass to the eldest of Sirius's living relatives, which would mean his cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange."  
Without realizing what he was doing, Harry sprang to his feet; the telescope and trainers in his lap rolled across the floor. Bellatrix Lestrange, Sirius's killer, inherit his house?  
"No," he said.  
"Well, obviously we would prefer that she didn't get it either," said Severus calmly, checking Harry's reaction carefully. No reason to alarm or upset his lover anymore than necessary. Severus had never liked Harry's godfather, but he knew Harry was still having a rough time mourning the man and talking about the house probably wasn't making it any better. But damn Dumbledore's orders. He'd made a promise to be the best double agent he could be, and he didn't intend to fail his job just yet.  
"The situation is fraught with complications. We do not know whether the enchantments we ourselves have placed upon it, for example, making it Unplottable, will hold now that ownership has passed from Sirius's hands. It might be that Bellatrix will arrive on the doorstep at any moment. Naturally we had to move out until such time as we have clarified the position,"  
"But how are you going to find out if I'm allowed to own it?"  
"Fortunately," said Severus, "there is a simple test."  
He placed his empty glass on a small table beside his chair, but before he could do anything else, Uncle Vernon shouted, "Will you get these ruddy things off us?"  
Harry looked around; all three of the Dursleys were cowering with their arms over their heads as their glasses bounced up and down on their skulls, their contents flying everywhere.  
"Oh, I'm so sorry," said Severus with another smirk, and he raised his wand again. All three glasses vanished. "But it would have been better manners to drink it, you know."  
It looked as though Uncle Vernon was bursting with any number of unpleasant retorts, but he merely shrank back into the cushions with Aunt Petunia and Dudley and said nothing, keeping his small piggy eyes on Severus's wand.  
"You see," Severus said, turning back to Harry and again speaking as though Uncle Vernon had not uttered, "if you have indeed inherited the house, you have also inherited —"  
He flicked his wand for a fifth time. There was a loud crack, and a house-elf appeared, with a snout for a nose, giant bat's ears, and enormous bloodshot eyes, crouching on the Dursleys' shag carpet and covered in grimy rags. Aunt Petunia let out a hair-raising shriek; nothing this filthy had entered her house in living memory. Dudley drew his large, bare, pink feet off the floor and sat with them raised almost above his head, as though he thought the creature might run up his pajama trousers, and Uncle Vernon bellowed, "What the hell is that?"  
"Kreacher," finished Severus  
"Kreacher wont, Kreacher won't, Kreacher wont!" croaked the house-elf, quite as loudly as Uncle Vernon, stamping his long, gnarled feet and pulling his ears. "Kreacher belongs to Miss Bellatrix, oh yes, Kreacher belongs to the Blacks, Kreacher wants his new mistress, Kreacher won't go to the Potter brat, Kreacher won't, won't, wont —"  
"As you can see, Harry," said Severus loudly, over Kreacher's continued croaks of "wont, won't, won't," "Kreacher is showing a certain reluctance to pass into your ownership."  
"I don't care," said Harry again, looking with disgust at the writhing, stamping house-elf. "I don't want him."  
"Won't, won’t, won't, won't —"  
"You would prefer him to pass into the ownership of Bellatrix Lestrange? Bearing in mind that he has lived at the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix for the past year?"  
"Won't, won't, won’t, won't —"  
Harry stared at Severus. He knew that Kreacher could not be permitted to go and live with Bellatrix Lestrange, but the idea of owning him, of having responsibility for the creature that had betrayed Sirius, was repugnant.  
"Give him an order," said Severus. "If he has passed into your ownership, he will have to obey. If not, then we shall have to think of some other means of keeping him from his rightful mistress."  
"Won't, won't, won’t, WON'T!"  
Kreacher's voice had risen to a scream. Harry could think of nothing to say, except, "Kreacher, shut up!"  
It looked for a moment as though Kreacher was going to choke. He grabbed his throat, his mouth still working furiously, his eyes bulging. After a few seconds of frantic gulping, he threw himself face forward onto the carpet (Aunt Petunia whimpered) and beat the floor with his hands and feet, giving himself over to a violent, but entirely silent, tantrum.  
"Well, that simplifies matters," said Severus with a nod. "It seems that Sirius knew what he was doing. You are the rightful owner of number twelve, Grimmauld Place and of Kreacher."  
"Do I-do I have to keep him with me?" Harry asked, aghast, as Kreacher thrashed around at his feet.  
"Not if you don't want to," said Severus. "If I might make a suggestion, you could send him to Hogwarts to work in the kitchen there. In that way, the other house-elves could keep an eye on him."  
"Yeah," said Harry in relief, "yeah, I'll do that. Er — Kreacher — I want you to go to Hogwarts and work in the kitchens there with the other house-elves."  
Kreacher, who was now lying flat on his back with his arms and legs in the air, gave Harry one upside-down look of deepest loathing and, with another loud crack, vanished.  
"Good," said Severus. "There is also the matter of the hippogriff, Buckbeak. Hagrid has been looking after him since Black died, but Buckbeak is yours now, so if you would prefer to make different arrangements —"  
"No," said Harry at once, "he can stay with Hagrid. I think Buckbeak would prefer that."  
"Hagrid will be delighted," said Severus with a tender smile. "He was thrilled to see Buckbeak again. Incidentally, we have decided, in the interests of Buckbeak's safety, to rechristen him 'Witherwings' for the time being, though I doubt that the Ministry would ever guess he is the hippogriff they once sentenced to death. Now, Harry, I asked you before, but I assume you were a bit shocked by my presence," Severus kept the gentle smile on his face as he looked over at his lover. "Is your trunk packed?"  
"Erm..."  
"Doubtful that I would turn up?" Severus suggested shrewdly.  
"I'll just go and-er-finish off," said Harry hastily, hurrying to pick up his fallen telescope and trainers.  
It took him a little over ten minutes to track down everything he needed; at last he had managed to extract his Invisibility Cloak from under the bed, screwed the top back on his jar of color-change ink, and forced the lid of his trunk shut on his cauldron. Then, heaving his trunk in one hand and holding Hedwig's cage in the other, he made his way back downstairs,  
He was disappointed to discover that Severus was not waiting in the hall, which meant that he had to return to the living room.  
Nobody was talking. Severus was quietly staring the Dursleys down, apparently quite at his ease, but the atmosphere was thicker than cold custard, and Harry did not dare look at the Dursleys as he said, "Professor-I'm ready now."  
"Good," said Severus. "Just one last thing, then." And he turned to speak to the Dursleys once more.  
"As you will no doubt be aware, Harry comes of age in a years time-"  
"No," said Aunt Petunia, speaking for the first time since Severus's arrival.  
"I'm sorry?" said Severus with a raised eyebrow.  
"No, he doesn't. He's a month younger than Dudley, and Dudders doesn't turn eighteen until the year after next."  
"Ah," said Severus, yet another smirk gracing his features, "but in the Wizarding world, we come of age at seventeen."  
Uncle Vernon muttered, "Preposterous," but Severus ignored him,  
"Now, as you already know, the wizard called Lord Voldemort has returned to this country. The Wizarding community is currently in a state of open warfare. Harry, whom Lord Voldemort has already attempted to kill on a number of occasions, is in even greater danger now than the day when Dumbledore left him upon your doorstep fifteen years ago, with a letter explaining about his parents' murder and expressing the hope that you would care for him as though he were your own."  
Severus paused, and although his voice remained low and calm, and he gave no obvious sign of anger, Harry felt a kind of chill emanating from him and noticed that the Dursleys drew very slightly closer together.  
"You did not do as he asked. You have never treated Harry as a son. He has known nothing but neglect and often cruelty at your hands. The best that can be said is that he has at least escaped the appalling damage you have inflicted upon the unfortunate boy sitting between you."  
Both Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon looked around instinctively, as though expecting to see someone other than Dudley squeezed between them.  
"Us-mistreat Dudders? What d'you-?" began Uncle Vernon furiously, but Severus raised his finger for silence, a silence which fell as though he had struck Uncle Vernon dumb.  
"The magic evoked fifteen years ago means that Harry has powerful protection while he can still call this house 'home.' However miserable he has been here, however unwelcome, however badly treated, you have at least, grudgingly, allowed him houseroom. This magic will cease to operate the moment that Harry turns seventeen; in other words, at the moment he becomes a man. I ask only this: that you allow Harry to return, once more, to this house, before his seventeenth birthday, which will ensure that the protection continues until that time."  
None of the Dursleys said anything. Dudley was frowning slightly, as though he was still trying to work out when he had ever been mistreated. Uncle Vernon looked as though he had something stuck in his throat; Aunt Petunia, however, was oddly flushed.  
"Well, Mister Potter, time for us to be off," said Severus at last, standing up and straightening his long black cloak. "Until we meet again," he said to the Dursleys, who looked as though that moment could wait forever as far as they were concerned, and he swept from the room.  
"Bye," said Harry hastily to the Dursleys, and followed Severus, who paused beside Harry's trunk, upon which Hedwig's cage was perched.  
"We do not want to be encumbered by these just now," he said, pulling out his wand again. "I shall send them to the Burrow to await us there. However, I would like you to bring your Invisibility Cloak, just in case."  
Harry extracted his cloak from his trunk with some difficulty, trying not to show Severus the mess within. When he had stuffed it into an inside pocket of his jacket, Severus waved his wand and the trunk, cage, and Hedwig vanished. Severus then waved his wand again, and the front door opened onto cool, misty darkness.  
"Right. Let's be off then," said Severus, taking off onto the sidewalk with Harry quickly trailing along just behind him.  
   
   


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Severus and Harry go on a task set by Dumbledore, trying to get one of Dumbledore's old colleagues to get back to teaching at Hogwarts.

Despite the fact that he had spent every waking moment of the past few days hoping desperately that Severus would indeed come to fetch him, Harry felt distinctly awkward as the two set off down Privet Drive together. It had been several weeks since they'd last seen each other, and the last time they had, Harry had still been too distraught by his Godfather's death for them to have a proper conversation. They'd sent enough letters over the past two weeks, for sure, but it just wasn't the same as actually seeing each other.  
Severus, however, seemed completely relaxed.  
"Keep your wand at the ready, Harry," he said brightly.  
"But I thought I wasn't allowed to use magic outside of school, Severus?"   
"If there is an attack," said Severus, "I give you permission to use any counterjinx or curse that might occur to you. However, I do not think you need worry about being attacked tonight."  
"Why not?"  
"You are with me," said Severus simply. "This will do, Harry."  
He came to an abrupt halt at the end of Privet Drive.  
"You have not, of course, passed your Apparition Test," he said.  
"No," said Harry. "I thought you had to be seventeen?"  
"You do," said Severus. "So you will need to hold on to my arm very tightly."  
Harry gripped Severus's proffered forearm.  
"Very good," said Severus. "This will feel strange for only a moment. Do hold your breath."  
Harry felt Severus's arm twist away from him and redoubled his grip; the next thing he knew, everything went black; he was being pressed very hard from all directions; he could not breathe, there were iron bands tightening around his chest; his eyeballs were being forced back into his head; his eardrums were being pushed deeper into his skull and then-  
He gulped great lungfuls of cold night air and opened his streaming eyes. He felt as though he had just been forced through a very tight rubber tube. It was a few seconds before he realized that Privet Drive had vanished. He and Severus were now standing in what appeared to be a deserted village square, in the center of which stood an old war memorial and a few benches. His comprehension catching up with his senses, Harry realized that he had just Apparated for the first time in his life.  
"Are you all right?" asked Severus, looking down at him with some concern. "The sensation does take some getting used to."  
"I'm fine," said Harry, rubbing his ears, which felt as though they had left Privet Drive rather reluctantly. "But I think I might prefer brooms. . . ."  
Severus smiled, another of those rare smiles he seemed to reserve only for Harry, and then drew his traveling cloak a little more lightly around his neck, and said, "This way."  
He set off at a brisk pace, past an empty inn and a few houses. According to a clock on a nearby church, it was almost midnight.  
"So tell me, Harry," said Severus. "Your scar ... has it been hurting at all?"  
Harry raised a hand unconsciously to his forehead and rubbed at the lightning-shaped mark.  
"No," he said, "and I've been wondering about that. I thought it would be burning all the time now Voldemort's getting so powerful again."  
He glanced up at Severus and saw that he was wearing a satisfied expression.  
"I, on the other hand, thought otherwise," said Severus. "The Dark Lord has finally realized the dangerous access to his thoughts and feelings you have been enjoying. It appears that he is now employing Occlumency against you. With some persuasion on my part, of course,"  
"Well, I'm not complaining," said Harry, who missed neither the disturbing dreams nor the startling flashes of insight into Voldemort's mind. Despite the fact that they'd been together for half a year already, it still sometimes surprised Harry when he remembered that Severus was working as a double agent, and whenever, out of simple habit, he called Voldemort the Dark Lord. He wondered if the feeling would always be so disconcerting.  
They turned a corner, passing a telephone box and a bus shelter. Harry looked sideways at Severus again. "Severus?"  
"Harry?"  
"Er-where exactly are we?"  
"This, Harry, is the charming village of Budleigh Babberton." The sarcasm in Severus's voice made it clear he didn't find the village very 'charming' at all.  
"And what are we doing here?"  
"Ah yes, of course, I haven't told you," said Severus. "We are on Dumbledore's orders, of course. We are, once again, one member of staff short. We are here to persuade an old colleague of Dumbledore's to come out of retirement and return to Hogwarts."  
"How can I help with that?"  
"Oh, I think we'll find a use for you," said Severus, a look of obvious displeasure on his face that made it clear he wanted no more questions asked on the subject. Harry didn't push his luck. "Left here, Harry."  
They proceeded up a steep, narrow street lined with houses. All the windows were dark. The odd chill that had lain over Privet Drive for two weeks persisted here too. Thinking of dementors, Harry cast a look over his shoulder and grasped his wand reassuringly in his pocket.  
"Severus, why couldn't we just Apparate directly into this person's house?"  
"Because it would be quite as rude as kicking down the front door," said Severus. "Courtesy dictates that we offer fellow wizards the opportunity of denying us entry. In any case, most Wizarding dwellings are magically protected from unwanted Apparators. At Hogwarts, for instance-"  
"-you can't Apparate anywhere inside the buildings or grounds," said Harry quickly. "Hermione told me."  
"And she is quite right. We turn left again."  
The church clock chimed midnight behind them. Harry wondered why Dumbledore did not consider it rude to send people to call on his old colleague so late, but now that conversation had been established between him and Severus, he had more pressing questions to ask.  
"Severus, I saw in the Daily Prophet that Fudge has been sacked. . . ."  
"Correct," said Severus, now turning up a steep side street. "He has been replaced, as I am sure you also saw, by Rufus Scrimgeour, who used to be Head of the Auror office."  
"Is he ... Do you think he's good?" asked Harry.  
"An interesting question," said Severus. "He is able, certainly. A more decisive and forceful personality than Cornelius."  
"Yes, but I meant —"  
"I know what you meant. Rufus is a man of action and, having fought Dark wizards for most of his working life, does not under-estimate The Dark Lord."  
Harry waited, but Severus did not say anything about the disagreement with Scrimgeour that the Daily Prophet had reported, and he did not have the nerve to pursue the subject, so he changed ii. "And...Severus...I saw about Madam Bones."  
"Yes," said Severus quietly. "A terrible loss. She was a great witch. Just up here, I think."  
He smiled at Harry, who understood that he was not being snubbed, and that he had permission to keep asking questions.  
"Sev...I got a Ministry of Magic leaflet by owl, about security measures we should all take against the Death Eaters..."  
"Yes, I received one myself," said Severus, and if the situation had not been a slightly serious one, Harry would have found that laughable. "Did you find it useful?"  
"Not really."  
"No, I thought not." Severus replied with a soft sigh.  
"On that leaflet, it said something about Inferi. What exactly are they? The leaflet wasn't very clear."   
"They are corpses," said Severus calmly. "Dead bodies that have been bewitched to do a Dark wizard's bidding. Inferi have not been seen for a long time, however, not since The Dark Lord was last powerful...He killed enough people to make an army of them, of course. This is the place, Harry, just here..."  
They were nearing a small, neat stone house set in its own garden. Harry was too busy digesting the horrible idea of Inferi to have much attention left for anything else, but as they reached the front gate, Severus stopped dead and Harry walked into him.  
"Careful Harry," Severus put his arm in front of his lover, holding him back as his lips tightened into a thin, worried line.  
Harry followed his gaze up the carefully tended front path and felt his heart sink. The front door was hanging off its hinges.  
Severus glanced up and down the street. It seemed quite deserted.  
"Wand out and follow me, Harry," he said quietly.  
He opened the gate and walked swiftly and silently up the garden path, Harry at his heels, then pushed the front door very slowly, his wand raised and at the ready.  
"Lumos."  
Severus's wand tip ignited, casting its light up a narrow hallway. To the left, another door stood open. Holding his illuminated wand aloft, Severus walked into the sitting room with Harry right behind him.  
A scene of total devastation met their eyes. A grandfather clock lay splintered at their feet, its face cracked, its pendulum lying a little farther away like a dropped sword. A piano was on its side, its keys strewn across the floor. The wreckage of a fallen chandelier flittered nearby. Cushions lay deflated, feathers oozing from slashes in their sides; fragments of glass and china lay like powder over everything. Severus raised his wand even higher, so that its light was thrown upon the walls, where something darkly red and glutinous was spattered over the wallpaper. Harry's small intake of breath made Severus look around.  
"Not pretty, is it?" he said heavily. "Yes, something horrible has happened here."  
Severus moved carefully into the middle of the room, scrutinizing the wreckage at his feet. Harry followed, gazing around, half-scared of what he might see hidden behind the wreck of the piano or the overturned sofa, but there was no sign of a body.  
"Maybe there was a fight and-they dragged him off, Sev?" Harry suggested, trying not to imagine how badly wounded a man would have to be to leave those stains spattered halfway up the walls.  
"I don't think so," said Severus quietly, peering behind an overstuffed armchair lying on its side.  
"You mean he's-"  
"Still here somewhere? Yes."  
And without warning, Severus swooped, plunging the tip of his wand into the seat of the overstuffed armchair, which yelled, "Ouch!"  
"Good evening, Horace," said Severus, straightening up again and staring at the armchair with some disdain.  
Harry’s jaw dropped. Where a split second before there had been an armchair, there now crouched an enormously fat, bald, old man who was massaging his lower belly and squinting up at Severus with an aggrieved and watery eye.  
"There was no need to stick the wand in that hard," he said gruffly, clambering to his feet. "It hurt."  
The wandlight sparkled on his shiny head, his prominent eyes, his enormous, silver, walruslike mustache, and the highly polished buttons on the maroon velvet jacket he was wearing over a pair of lilac silk pajamas. The top of his head barely reached Severus's chin.  
"What gave it away?" he grunted as he staggered to his feet, still rubbing his lower belly. He seemed remarkably unabashed for a man who had just been discovered pretending to be an armchair.  
"Do give me more credit than that, Horace," Severus sneered. "I'm a double agent myself as I'm sure you know already. The Dark Mark would've been over the entire house if Death Eaters truly had been here."  
The wizard clapped a pudgy hand to his vast forehead.  
"The Dark Mark," he muttered. "Knew there was something ... ah well. Wouldn't have had time anyway, I'd only just put the finishing touches to my upholstery when you entered the room."  
He heaved a great sigh that made the ends of his mustache flutter.  
"And I'm sure you're going to want me to help you clean up your own mess," Severus asked with a sigh.  
"Please," said the other.  
They stood back to back, the tall thin wizard and the short round one, and waved their wands in one identical sweeping motion.  
The furniture flew back to its original places; ornaments reformed in midair, feathers zoomed into their cushions; torn books repaired themselves as they landed upon their shelves; oil lanterns soared onto side tables and reignited; a vast collection of splintered silver picture frames flew glittering across the room and alighted, whole and untarnished, upon a desk; rips, cracks, and holes healed everywhere, and the walls wiped themselves clean.  
"What kind of blood was that, incidentally?" asked Severus loudly over the chiming of the newly unsmashed grandfather flock.  
"On the walls? Dragon," shouted the wizard called Horace, as, with a deafening grinding and tinkling, the chandelier screwed itself back into the ceiling.  
There was a final plunk from the piano, and silence.  
"Yes, dragon," repeated the wizard conversationally. "My last bottle, and prices are sky-high at the moment. Still, it might be reusable."  
He stumped over to a small crystal bottle standing on top of a sideboard and held it up to the light, examining the thick liquid within.  
"Hmm. Bit dusty."  
He set the bottle back on the sideboard and sighed. It was then that his gaze fell upon Harry.  
"Oho," he said, his large round eyes flying to Harry's forehead and the lightning-shaped scar it bore. "Oho!"  
"This," said Severus, another unpleasant look on his face as he moved forward to make the introduction, "is Harry Potter. Harry, this is Dumbledore's colleague, Horace Slughorn."  
Slughorn turned on Severus, his expression shrewd. "So that's how he thought he'd persuade me, is it? Well, the answer's no, Severus."  
He pushed past Harry, his face turned resolutely away with the air of a man trying to resist temptation.  
"I don't like this anymore than you, Horace, for reasons in which I will not disclose. I am merely here on Dumbledore's orders. Now, shall we sit down and have a drink?" Severus asked, looking both weary and agitated, even as Harry gave him a concerned look.  
Slughorn hesitated.  
"All right then, one drink," he said ungraciously.  
Severus sighed at Harry and directed him toward a chair not unlike the one that Slughorn had so recently impersonated, which stood right beside the newly burning fire and a brightly glowing oil lamp. Harry took the seat, still carefully watching his lover, who seemed more agitated than usual, even for him. Certainly when Slughorn, who had been busy with decanters and glasses, turned to face Harry again, Severus's eyes narrowed in distaste.  
"Hmpf," he said, looking away quickly as though frightened of hurting his eyes. "Here-" He gave a drink to Severus, who had sat down without invitation, thrust the tray at Harry, and then sank into the cushions of the repaired sofa and a disgruntled silence. His legs were so short they did not touch the floor.  
"How have you been keeping, Horace?" Severus asked, and Harry had the distinct impression that Severus did not particularly care how Slughorn was doing, but was merely making the attempt to be courteous. And a rather bad attempt it was too, Harry thought, noticing that Severus was still glaring.  
"Not so well," said Slughorn at once. "Weak chest. Wheezy. Rheumatism too. Can't move like I used to. Well, that's to be expected. Old age. Fatigue."  
"And yet you must have moved fairly quickly to prepare such a welcome for us at such short notice," said Severus. "You can't have had more than three minutes' warning?"  
Slughorn said, half irritably, half proudly, "Two. Didn't hear my Intruder Charm go off, I was taking a bath. Still," he added sternly, seeming to pull himself back together again, "the fact remains that I'm an old man, Severus, A tired old man who's earned the right to a quiet life and a few creature comforts."  
He certainly had those, thought Harry, looking around the room. It was stuffy and cluttered, yet nobody could say it was uncomfortable; there were soft chairs and footstools, drinks and books, boxes of chocolates and plump cushions. If Harry had not known who lived there, he would have guessed at a rich, fussy old lady.  
"You're not yet as old as Dumbledore, Horace," said Severus with a disgusted frown.  
"Well, maybe you ought to think about retirement yourself, since you seem to know so much," said Slughorn bluntly. His pale gooseberry eyes had found Severus again.   
"Absolutely not," the thinner man gave another sneer. "I still have business to attend to at Hogwarts. Until we have defeated the Dark Lord, I don't suppose I'll ever be retiring."  
Harry saw a tiny frown momentarily crease Slughorn's wide forehead.  
"So, all these precautions against intruders, Horace...are they for the Death Eaters' benefit, or Dumbledore's?" asked Severus.  
"What would the Death Eaters want with a poor broken-down old buffer like me?" demanded Slughorn.  
"I imagine that they would want you to turn your considerable talents to coercion, torture, and murder," said Severus. "Are you really telling me that they haven't come recruiting yet?"  
Slughorn eyed Severus balefully for a moment, then muttered, "I haven't given them the chance. I've been on the move for a year. Never stay in one place more than a week. Move from Muggle house to Muggle house — the owners of this place are on holiday in the Canary Islands — it's been very pleasant, I'll be sorry to leave. It's quite easy once you know how, one simple Freezing Charm on these absurd burglar alarms they use instead of Sneako-scopes and make sure the neighbors don't spot you bringing in the piano."  
"Ingenious," said Severus. "But it sounds a rather tiring existence for a broken-down old buffer in search of a quiet life. Now, if you were to return to Hogwarts-"  
"If you're going to tell me my life would be more peaceful at that pestilential school, you can save your breath, Severus! I might have been in hiding, but some funny rumors have reached me since Dolores Umbridge left! If that's how Dumbledore treats teachers these days-"  
"Professor Umbridge ran afoul of our centaur herd," said Severus. "I think you, Horace, would have known better than to stride into the forest and call a horde of angry centaurs 'filthy half-breeds.'"  
"That's what she did, did she?" said Slughorn. "Idiotic woman. Never liked her."  
Harry chuckled and both Severus and Slughorn looked round at him.  
"Sorry," Harry said hastily. "It's just-I didn't like her either."  
Severus stood up rather suddenly.  
"Are you leaving?" asked Slughorn at once, looking hopeful.  
"No, I was wondering whether I might use your restroom," said Severus coolly.   
"Oh," said Slughorn, clearly disappointed. "Second on the left down the hall."  
Severus strode from the room. Once the door had closed behind him, there was silence. After a few moments, Slughorn got to his feet but seemed uncertain what to do with himself. He shot a furtive look at Harry, then crossed to the fire and turned his back on it, warming his wide behind.  
"Don't think I don't know why he's brought you," he said abruptly.  
Harry merely looked at Slughorn. Slughorn's watery eyes slid over Harry's scar, this time taking in the rest of his face.  
"You look very like your father."  
"Yeah, I've been told," said Harry.  
"Except for your eyes. You've got-"  
"My mother's eyes, yeah." Harry had heard it so often he found it a bit wearing.  
"Hmpf. Yes, well. You shouldn't have favorites as a teacher, of course, but she was one of mine. Your mother," Slughorn added, in answer to Harry’s questioning look. "Lily Evans. One of the brightest I ever taught. Vivacious, you know. Charming girl. I used to tell her she ought to have been in my House. Very cheeky answers I used to get back too."   
"Which was your House?"  
"I was Head of Slytherin," said Slughorn. "Oh, now," he went on quickly, seeing the expression of surprise Harry's face and mistaking it for horror. He wagged a stubby finger at him, "don't go holding that against me! You'll be Gryffindor like her, I suppose? Yes, it usually goes in families. Not always, though. Ever heard of Sirius Black? You must have done-been in the papers for the last couple of years-died a few weeks ago-"  
It was as though an invisible hand had twisted Harry's intestines and held them tight.  
"Well, anyway, he was a big pal of your father's at school. The whole Black family had been in my House, but Sirius ended up in Gryffindor! Shame-he was a talented boy. I got his brother, Regulus, when he came along, but I'd have liked the set."  
He sounded like an enthusiastic collector who had been outbid at auction. Apparently lost in memories, he gazed at the opposite wall, turning idly on the spot to ensure an even heat on his backside.  
"Your mother was Muggle-born, of course. Couldn't believe it when I found out. Thought she must have been pure-blood, she was so good."  
"One of my best friends is Muggle-born," said Harry, "and she's the best in our year."  
"Funny how that sometimes happens, isn't it?" said Slughorn.  
"Not really," said Harry coldly.  
Slughorn looked down at him in surprise. "You mustn't think I'm prejudiced!" he said. "No, no, no! Haven't I just said your mother was one of my all-time favorite students? And there was Dirk Cresswell in the year after her too-now Head of the Goblin Liaison Office, of course-another Muggle-born, a very gifted student, and still gives me excellent inside information on the goings-on at Gringotts!"  
He bounced up and down a little, smiling in a self-satisfied way, and pointed at the many glittering photograph frames on the dresser, each peopled with tiny moving occupants.  
"All ex-students, all signed. You'll notice Barnabas Cuffe, editor of the Daily Prophet, he's always interested to hear my take on the day's news. And Ambrosius Flume, of Honeydukes — a hamper every birthday, and all because I was able to give him an introduction to Ciceron Harkisss who gave him his first job! And at the back — you'll see her if you just crane your neck — that's Gwenog Jones, who of course captains the Holyhead Harpies. . . . People are always astonished to hear I'm on first-name terms with the Harpies, and free tickets whenever I want them!"  
This thought seemed to cheer him up enormously.  
"And all these people know where to find you, to send you stuff?" asked Harry, who could not help wondering why the Death Eaters had not yet tracked down Slughorn if hampers of sweets, Quidditch tickets, and visitors craving his advice and opinions could find him.  
The smile slid from Slughorn's face as quickly as the blood from his walls.  
"Of course not," he said, looking down at Harry. "I have been out of touch with everybody for a year."  
Harry had the impression that the words shocked Slughorn himself; he looked quite unsettled for a moment. Then he shrugged.  
"Still...the prudent wizard keeps his head down in such times. All very well for Severus to talk, but taking up a post at Hogwarts just now would be tantamount to declaring my public allegiance to the Order of the Phoenix! And while I'm sure they're very admirable and brave and all the rest of it, I don't personally fancy the mortality rate-"  
"You don't have to join the Order to teach at Hogwarts," said Harry, who could not quite keep a note of derision out of his voice: It was hard to sympathize with Slughorn's cosseted existence when he remembered Sirius, crouching in a cave and living on rats. "Most of the teachers aren't in it, and none of them has ever been killed — well, unless you count Quirrell, and he got what he deserved seeing as he was working with Voldemort."  
Harry had been sure Slughorn would be one of those wizards who could not bear to hear Voldemort's name spoken aloud, and was not disappointed: Slughorn gave a shudder and a squawk of protest, which Harry ignored.  
"I reckon the staff are safer than most people while Dumbledore's headmaster; he's supposed to be the only one Voldemort ever feared, isn't he?" Harry went on.  
Slughorn gazed into space for a moment or two: He seemed to be thinking over Harry's words.  
"Well, yes, it is true that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has never sought a fight with Dumbledore," he muttered grudgingly. "And I suppose one could argue that as I have not joined the Death Eaters, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named can hardly count me a friend...in which case, I might well be safer a little closer to Albus...I cannot pretend that Amelia Bones's death did not shake me...If she, with all her Ministry contacts and protection..."  
Severus reentered the room and Slughorn jumped as though he had forgotten he was in the house.  
"Oh, there you are, Severus," he said.   
Severus nodded. "Well, Harry, we have trespassed upon Horace's hospitality quite long enough; I think it is time for us to leave."  
Not at all reluctant to obey, Harry jumped to his feet. Slughorn looked taken aback.  
"You're leaving?"  
"Yes, indeed. I think I know a lost cause when I see one."  
"Lost. . .?"  
Slughorn seemed agitated. He twiddled his fat thumbs and fidgeted as he watched Severus fasten his traveling cloak, and Harry zip up his jacket.  
"Well, I'm sorry you don't want the job, Horace," said Severus, raising his hand in a farewell salute. "Hogwarts would have been glad to see you back again. Our greatly increased security notwithstanding, you will always be welcome to visit, should you wish to. Dumbledore's words. Not mine."  
"Yes...well...very gracious...as I say..."  
"Good-bye, then."  
"Bye," said Harry.  
They were at the front door when there was a shout from behind them.  
"All right, all right, I'll do it!"  
Severus turned to see Slughorn standing breathless in the doorway to the sitting room.  
"You will come out of retirement?"  
"Yes, yes," said Slughorn impatiently. "I must be mad, but yes."  
"Wonderful," Severus grumbled with narrowed eyes. "Then, Horace, we shall see you on the first of September."  
"Yes, I daresay you will," grunted Slughorn.  
As they set off down the garden path, Slughorn's voice floated after them, "Tell Dumbledore I'll want a pay rise!"  
Severus gave a roll of his eyes. The garden gate swung shut behind them, and they set off back down the hill through the dark and the swirling mist.  
"Well done, Harry," said Severus, disgust dripping from his tone like rain.   
"I didn't do anything," said Harry in surprise.  
"Oh yes you did. You showed Horace exactly how much he stands to gain by returning to Hogwarts. Did you like him?"  
"Er..."  
Harry wasn't sure whether he liked Slughorn or not. He supposed he had been pleasant in his way, but he had also seemed vain and, whatever he said to the contrary, much too surprised that a Muggle-born should make a good witch.  
"Horace," said Severus, relieving Harry of the responsibility to say any of this, "likes his comfort. He also likes the company of the famous, the successful, and the powerful. He enjoys the feeling that he influences these people. He has never wanted to occupy the throne himself; he prefers the backseat — more room to spread out, you see. He used to handpick favorites at Hogwarts, some-limcs for their ambition or their brains, sometimes for their charm or their talent, and he had an uncanny knack for choosing those who would go on to become outstanding in their various fields. Horace formed a kind of club of his favorites with himself at the center, making introductions, forging useful contacts between members, and always reaping some kind of benefit in return, whether a free box of his favorite crystalized pineapple or the chance to recommend the next junior member of the Goblin liaison Office."  
Harry had a sudden and vivid mental image of a great swollen spider, spinning a web around it, twitching a thread here and there to bring its large and juicy flies a little closer.  
"I tell you all this," Severus continued, "not to turn you against Horace-or, as we must now call him, Professor Slughorn-but to put you on your guard. He will undoubtedly try to collect you, Harry. You would be the jewel of his collection; 'the Boy Who Lived...' or, as they call you these days, 'the Chosen One.'"  
At these words, a chill that had nothing to do with the surrounding mist stole over Harry. He was reminded of words he had heard a few weeks ago, words that had a horrible and particular meaning to him: Neither can live while the other survives . . .  
Severus had stopped walking, level with the church they had passed earlier.  
"This will do, Harry. If you will grasp my arm."  
Braced this time, Harry was ready for the Apparition, but still found it unpleasant. When the pressure disappeared and he found himself able to breathe again, he was standing in a country lane beside Severus and looking ahead to the crooked silhouette of his second favorite building in the world: the Burrow. In spite of the feeling of dread that had just swept through him, his spirits could not help but lift at the sight of it. Ron was in there...and so was Mrs. Weasley, who could cook better than anyone he knew.  
"If you don't mind, Harry," said Severus, as they passed through the gate, "I'd like a few words with you before we part. In private. Perhaps in here?"  
Severus pointed toward a run-down stone outhouse where the Weasleys kept their broomsticks. "You're leaving? So soon?" Harry asked, and Severus nodded with another small sigh.  
"There are other important matters which I must attend to. And besides. I'm not very welcome in the Weasley home," Severus replied, glowering over at the house slightly, and Harry nodded, following Severus through the creaking door into a space a little smaller than the average cupboard. Severus illuminated the tip of his wand, so that it glowed like a torch, and smiled tenderly down at Harry.  
"I hope you will forgive me for mentioning it, Harry, but I am pleased and a little proud at how well you seem to be coping after everything that happened at the Ministry. Permit me to say that I think Sirius would have been proud of you."  
Harry swallowed; his voice seemed to have deserted him. He did not think he could stand to discuss Sirius; it had been painful enough to hear Uncle Vernon say "His godfather's dead?" and even worse to hear Sirius’s name thrown out casually by Slughorn.  
"It was cruel," said Severus softly, "that you and Sirius had such a short time together. A brutal ending to what should have been a long and happy relationship. We never got on well, he and I. But I understand he was extremely important to you, love."  
Harry nodded, his eyes fixed resolutely on the spider now climbing Severus's robes. He could tell that Severus understood, that he might even suspect that until his letter arrived, Harry had spent nearly all his time at the Dursleys' lying on his bed, refusing meals, and staring at the misted window, full of the chill emptiness that he had come to associate with dementors.  
"It's just hard," Harry said finally, in a low voice, "to realize he won't write to me again."  
His eyes burned suddenly and he blinked. He felt stupid for admitting it, but the fact that he had had someone outside Hogwarts who cared what happened to him, almost like a parent, had been one of the best things about discovering his godfather...and now the post owls would never bring him that comfort again...  
"Sirius represented much to you that you had never known before," said Severus gently. "Naturally, the loss is devastating...  
"But while I was at the Dursleys' ..." interrupted Harry, his voice growing stronger, "I realized I can’t shut myself away or-or crack up. Sirius wouldn't have wanted that, would he? And anyway, life's too short...Look at Madam Bones, look at Emmeline Vance. It could be me next, couldn't it? But if it is," he said fiercely, now looking straight into Severus's black eyes gleaming in the wandlight, "I'll make sure I take as many Death Eaters with me as I can, and Voldemort too if I can manage it."  
"Spoken both like your mother and father's son and Sirius's true godson," said Severus somberly, placing a gentle hand on Harry's shoulder.   
"And now, Harry, on a closely related subject... I gather that you have been taking the Daily Prophet over the last two weeks?"  
"Yes," said Harry, and his heart beat a little faster.  
"Then you will have seen that there have been not so much leaks as floods concerning your adventure in the Hall of Prophecy?"  
"Yes," said Harry again. "And now everyone knows that I'm the one-  
"No, they do not," interrupted Severus. "There are only three people in the whole world who know the full contents of the prophecy made about you and Lord Voldemort, and two of them are standing in this smelly, spidery broom shed. It is true, however, that many have guessed, correctly, that The Dark Lord sent his Death Eaters to steal a prophecy, and that the prophecy concerned you.  
"Now, I think I am correct in saying that you have not told anybody that you know what the prophecy said?"  
"No," said Harry.  
"A wise decision, on the whole," said Severus. "Although I think you ought to relax it in favor of your friends, Mister Weasley and Miss Granger. Yes," he continued, when Harry looked startled, "I think they ought to know. You do them a disservice by not confiding something this important to them."  
"I didn't want-"  
"-to worry or frighten them, the very same way you were concerned of worrying or frightening me?" said Severus, surveying Harry with stern, unblinking eyes. "Or perhaps, to confess that you yourself are worried and frightened? You need your friends, Harry. As you so rightly said, Sirius would not have wanted you to shut yourself away."  
Harry said nothing, but Severus did not seem to require an answer. He continued, "On a different, though related, subject, it is my wish that you take private lessons with me this year."  
"Private-with you?" said Harry, surprised out of his preoccupied silence.  
"Yes. I know we had a rather rough time of it last year, but since we've come to a better understanding with each other..."  
"What will you be teaching me, Sev?"  
"Occlumency and a few other things, love," Severus replied calmly. "Now, two more things, Harry, before we part.  
"Firstly, I wish you to keep your Invisibility Cloak with you at all times from this moment onward. Even within Hogwarts itself. Just in case, you understand me?"  
Harry nodded.  
"And lastly, while you stay here, the Burrow has been given the highest security the Ministry of Magic can provide. These measures have caused a certain amount of inconvenience to Arthur and Molly-all their post, for instance, is being searched at the Ministry before being sent on. They do not mind in the slightest, for their only concern is your safety. However, it would be poor repayment if you risked your neck while staying with them."  
"I understand," said Harry quickly.  
"Very well, then," said Severus, pushing open the broom shed door and stepping out into the yard. "I see a light in the kitchen. Let us not deprive Molly any longer of the chance to deplore how thin you are."  
"When will I see you again?" Harry asked, feeling his heart start to pound in his chest as Severus slowly turned back to him.  
"Soon, my love. Very soon," he promised, and then began making his way up to the crooked house.

**Author's Note:**

> I really hope you enjoyed this. Thanks so much for reading.


End file.
